For All That Dreamers Dream

… there is a cost.

For those who know, the quiet’s like a salve;
A balm to soothe the aching, wounded soul –
A therapeutic that is there to have
Whenever life or liars leave a hole

A whole entire world of wondrous sights
Will open up for those who scale the heights –
Upon the wind of solitude to soar;
The nadir and the apex – what they’re for –

For all that dreamers dream, there is a cost:
The peace that’s needed, just to take in breath –
The separation that is part of death –
The death that is the dream forever lost

Lost everywhere, but not beyond reclaim:
For love’s a dream with wings, and knows no shame

Mendicant Dreams

Wraith-like, twisting
My dream sweeps out
With menaced urgency

Lighting on some
Ancestral shrine
Where my soul longs to be

The grasses, bending,
Supplicant
Whisper how I should stay

The grave welcomes
A mendicant
Who cannot find his way

But I will be there
Soon enough
The tomb – what’s left of me

For now, I am one
With the clouds
Beside
The Irish
Sea

Sic Transit Gloria Nihil

(or “Old Poem, Written Age 18”)

We live in a world full of false attribution,
Where people smear filth and then call it ablution;
Where lies are the most common type of pollution,
And all that gets over are cheaters and cons —

We breathe in the air of congenital aping,
Our souls full of holes that are growing and gaping
While no word of truth from our lips is escaping,
Misleading our brothers and sisters, our pawns —

We die in this place of eternal damnation
Without ever knowing we’re needing salvation;
And wait till the last to feel our consternation,
And only then claiming our crimes to forswear —

We’re buried with all that is totally rotten,
And sooner than later, we’re all but forgotten,
And wrapped in our silks or our nylon or cotton
We still try to speak, but we don’t have a prayer

Summer Calling

Amid the fields and rivers
And scent of honeycomb,
I heard the summer calling
For me to head back home.

The sky was tinged with cantaloupe,
The wind was warm and slack,
But I knew if I made it home
I’d never make it back.

Out by the ancient river,
I said my last goodbyes
To summer, with its passions,
Beneath those melon skies.

For one day, we must turn away
From all that we know best:
For when the summer calls us home,
It’s finally time

To rest

The Pride of Lucy

Lucy sat out in the sun
In cold and clear September;
She modeled for us her new life,
I always will remember

The pride she wore upon her face
As she soaked in the rays;
Not knowing pills and Crystal Head
Would soon cut short her days.

The pride of Lucy, young and full
Of beauty and its power;
The sharpened razor blades, so cold,
That hacked to death

The flower


 

(“The Pride of Lucy” – 12-27-2015)